


Dedication

by roselightsaber



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Love Confessions, M/M, mild self-destruction?, what a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 18:12:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9453731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roselightsaber/pseuds/roselightsaber
Summary: Chirrut only gets more reckless after losing his sight.





	

“You train too hard lately.” Baze’s voice over his shoulder was gruff, as always, annoyed, as usual. “You won’t be able to do much for the temple if you hurt yourself practicing.”

“It’s nothing unusual. I took the landing badly.”

No mention given, then, to whether or not he needed to leap from such a height in the first place, very literally blindly. He winced as Baze cleaned the long gash down his ribs none too gently. It wasn’t as bad as it looked; it wasn’t deep, wasn’t particularly life-threatening at all, especially since he’d hurt himself so close to the temple itself, easily led inside for treatment. But there was no bacta in their far-reaching limb of the universe, at least not for quick-healing a little thing like this. It had to be carefully reserved for only the most serious wounds. It was why he’d lost his sight, why he and Baze both has skin streaked with scars. 

“Anyway, the Force protected me.”

“Protected you?” If it were possible for a person to angrily wrap bandages, Baze did just that. It stung. “If the Force wanted to protect you, how about having you land on the building you were jumping to instead of tumbling down in between them?” He sighed heavily. “Or giving you the sense not to jump off buildings when you can’t see in the first place.”

Chirrut felt just the slightest pang of guilt. Baze didn’t raise his voice often, and the tender way he smoothed out his bandages – despite the rather harsh initial application – twisted his stomach into a knot. “I consider it a lesson.”

“What would the lesson have been if you’d hit your head? Or cut yourself worse and bled out between buildings before anyone knew you’d gone?”

“Have some faith in _me_  if you can’t in the Force. I wouldn’t do anything that dangerous.”

“But you _do_.” His fingertips ghosted over Chirrut’s back, his arms, over bruises, scars, sore spots Chirrut had nearly forgotten about until they were burning under the light touch. “It’s not always so…spectacular. Today – that wasn’t training, and you know it. But even when it is, you never stop pushing yourself.”

“I am _dedicated_ –”

“There’s no nobility in harming yourself.” His voice – if it was anyone other than Baze Malbus speaking, Chirrut would have sworn it cracked, choked with emotion, but he’d never seen the other show any emotion at all outright, besides anger. When he speaks again his tone is uncharacteristically hushed, matching the unusually gentle touch at the back of his neck, where a thin scar trails down towards his shoulder blade. “You are…fragile, lately, Chirrut.”

He leaned back into the touch before he could think better of it. This seemed to surprise his friend, or at least to bring him out of his reverie, and his hand falls away from him. “You think I’ve become weak since losing my sight?”

“I think you’ve become reckless.” His voice had returned to flat gruffness, hands to himself once again.

Chirrut turned to face him. “I have to remain strong despite this.”

Baze didn’t meet his cloudy, sightless gaze. He never could since – since it happened. “You are strong, Chirrut. You don’t have to die to prove it.” There was a long beat where neither seemed to know what to do with the sudden intimacy of honest words shared so close together. Baze broke the uncomfortable stillness, to the surprise of both of them, placing a hand to Chirrut’s cheek. “Give yourself time to recover.”

Chirruts hand rose with something like disbelief to Baze’s. “I – there’s no time to _rest_ , Baze.”

“Then…” Not done shocking them both yet, he sweeps his thumb over Chirrut’s cheekbone, more affectionate than any touch he’d ever dared to give before. “I’ll make time. I’ll make a place for you, okay? So you can rest – mind and body and soul.”

Chirrut seemed to search every inch of him even without his sight; Baze felt strangely vulnerable though Chirrut was the one injured and half-undressed. “Baze Malbus,” He murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Always watching out for me.”

“Don’t…” He objected, leaning a little closer, perhaps unconsciously. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?” Reciprocating the lean in – suddenly they were much closer than either had planned on.

“As if it’s something I do without meaning.” He frowned, and Chirrut felt suddenly that he could see him again, could feel his rarely-shown emotions in such sharp relief that he could reconstruct his features behind blind eyes. He started to answer but is silenced – just as rare a phenomenon – when Baze’s forehead touches his. “I worry for you, Chirrut. I care about you.”

“I know you do,” He breathed after a moment of steadying his thoughts. “I know.”

“Then why do you do it?”

Chirrut didn’t have an answer, at least not right away. Instead he closed his eyes, though it made no difference, and tilted his head against Baze’s hand at his cheek. He focused on the other’s breathing, so close to him, mingling with his own. Baze didn’t give away much of anything – emotion, affection, even fear – but here he was pouring out his soul to him. _For_  him. And it felt like he was somehow accustomed to it despite the newness, as if, at the core of their two beings, this had all been done before, and would again. It was a ripple in the Force that Chirrut wasn’t sure how to interpret, a warm, familiar feeling, deep down. He’d felt it from Baze before, when they sparred, when they chatted idly late into the night, when Baze defended him and fought beside him and wept over him as he slowly healed. But now, as the other caressed him with a touch that reached well beyond their established bond of friendship, it felt more familiar than ever, as if he’d finally come home after years of wandering. He couldn’t quite answer his question, even still, only choked out a soft, “I’m sorry.” But it didn’t seem to matter.

Baze gathered him into a tight embrace. “It’s okay,” He murmured, his hold firm but careful not to bear down on his injury. “It’s okay. I’m here for you, Chirrut.”

It took a few moments for Chirrut to rally his senses and return the hug, but Baze didn’t seem fazed by that, either. “Baze, I–”

“I know.” Baze had never spoken so confidently in all the time Chirrut had known him – he felt pride for that even before he let the feeling of love cascade over him. “Let me help you through this, Chirrut. My–” He stumbled on the word, laughing sheepishly as he drew back to look him over, eyes so full of worry and love and that beautiful proud fretfulness that only Baze ever seemed to feel for his wild recklessness, that Chirrut was sure, again, that he could see them. “My strange, flighty little bird. My Chirrut.”

“Yours,” He repeated, the word too heavy on his lips. “Do you worry over me because you think of me as yours?”

“I do – in part,” He confessed, letting his head fall to Chirrut’s shoulder. “But I would worry for you no matter what. Mine or not you – you are a force that can’t be contained. And I don’t want to see that power turned against yourself.” When Chirrut didn’t answer, he pulled back again, cradling his face in one hand once more. “You’re much more than _mine_.”

Chirrut reached out to try to read Baze’s expression – a challenging puzzle he hadn’t quite figured out the pieces to just yet. But he felt his eyes close against the effort of holding so much back for so long, at the struggle not to let go of too much here and now. He felt the tension in his jaw contrasted to the soft way he looked at him, held him. And then he felt Baze take his hand, with noticeably unsteady fingers, and press a kiss across his knuckles – this was motivation enough for Chirrut to finally ask, in his overly direct way:

“Do you love me?”

Baze sucked in a sharp breath, smoothed a careful hand over Chirrut’s bandages, and swallowed. Then, after an intractable silence that could not possibly have been as long as it felt, he answered.

“I do.”


End file.
